Ways to Love Your Brother
There's no time for fussing and fighting my friend
The five of us had gotten together again after a year off tour and began playing random shit, trying to write a new album, the follow up to our Black Parade. We didn't want to be a concept album like Parade was, but we didn't want the album to mean nothing.
Our new drummer or about six years, Bob Bryar (who we met when we were on out with The Used) had flown over from Chicago, the saint, why he doesn't just move out here none of us have a clue. But non of us mind if he crashes at our places.
When we let Brian become our manager, Gerard and I thought we could pull a 'close brotherly relationship' on him, but when Bob joined the bad, we both agreed that we should tell them.
Once they were both 'in the know' it was extremely awkward for a while, but eventually they got used to the idea of us being together, and it really helped that Frank and Ray were used ti it and okay.
We started to write a few songs, working on tabs and lyrics. It started off as fun, just the five of us, Jamia and Missy, jamming out to whatever sounds good, and all that jazz, but then, BOOM, writers block hit us.
Shit.
We tried working around it the best we could, but nothing came. We all soon became frustrated and it didn't end well.
Gerard was sitting at his drawing desk when I arrived home from the grocery store. I had greeted him when I entered our big little loft but he didn't reply.
Not thinking anything of it, I went to the kitchen area and proceeded to put the food away.
"Hey Gerard," I called, "Where do you want the spices?"
No answer.
"Gerard?"
Nothing.
Setting the oregano I held in my hand down on the counter, I walked out of the kitchen and to Gerard.
"Gee?"
He stiffened, but didn't reply.
"Baby?"
"What," he answered finally. The tone he held was of annoyance and anger all meshed into one, "What do you want Mikey?" he was yelling, "What could possible be so important that you just had to interrupt me?"
Frightened, I took a step back.
"Well," he demanded.
"I was just wondering where you wanted the spices."
My voice was small, I was scared by my brother. He would never act like this. It frightened me even more when his eyes widened and filled with rage.
"You just wanted to know where the spices go," he demanded, "You interrupted me, at my desk, while I was doing something that I'll never figure out again, all because you don't know your way around the fucking kitchen?"
"Well, I'm sorry," I replied, my voice losing it's shyness, "Do you really expect me to know when you're busy or when you're not?"
"I'm at my fucking desk, Mikey, What more do you fucking want?"
"You're always at your desk."
"Because I'm working!"
"You're always working! You never talk to anyone any more. The only time I ever get to spend time with you is when you're eating, and even then it's not -"
"Oh, come off it, Mikey. I'm not that involved in my work."
"But you are! God dammit, Gerard.... I haven't touched you in what feels like forever. I haven't kissed you, shared a bed with you, I haven't even just held a conversation with my older brother in forever."
"Well, I'm sorry I care more about our music than everyone else. I'm more interested in getting this album done than having sex. You're such a fucking whore, Mikey."
That last comment stung. A lot.
Anger swelled up inside of me, and the next thing I knew, my hand made contact with the side of Gerard's face, and I was yelling, "Don't you ever call me a whore."
Holding the side of his face, he looked at me with shocked eyes. He lowered his hand and nodded. He didn't vocally apologies for what he said, he didn't do anything.
Giving a great sigh, I went to our bed room, grabbed a small back, and put a change of clothes in it and everything else I needed, my music player, cell phone, and anything else I deemed important.
All the time while I went around the room, I didn't notice Gerard standing in the door way watching me walk back and forth, packing my bag.
"What are you doing," he asked, finally.
"I'm just going to spend the night at someone's house. I don't want to interrupt your concentration."
As I zipped up my bag, I felt Gerard's hands on my hips, his lips on my neck. My first instinct was to just close my eyes and melt into him, but instead, I removed his hands and grabbed my bag.
"I don't get it," he said, "You yell at me for not loving you, yet when I try you pull away."
"I just don't want you to take advantage of the whore."
Not waiting for an answer, I left the apartment and headed over to Frank and Jamia's.
*_*Two weeks later*_*
"I can't fucking take you anymore," Gerard yelled, "Last night you cry out my name with great passion, and not you totally hate me."
"I don't hate you, I'm just fed up with all of this."
It's been two weeks since our first fight, and there's been nothing but arguing since. It was a very hard atmosphere to live in, and the tension we had between us was leaking out onto the other guys and it was literally ruining our record.
Finally, I had enough.
Buying a plane ticket, I told everyone that I needed a break, and after a heated argument with Gerard, I broke up with him, and left for the mid west of the United States.
Our new drummer or about six years, Bob Bryar (who we met when we were on out with The Used) had flown over from Chicago, the saint, why he doesn't just move out here none of us have a clue. But non of us mind if he crashes at our places.
When we let Brian become our manager, Gerard and I thought we could pull a 'close brotherly relationship' on him, but when Bob joined the bad, we both agreed that we should tell them.
Once they were both 'in the know' it was extremely awkward for a while, but eventually they got used to the idea of us being together, and it really helped that Frank and Ray were used ti it and okay.
We started to write a few songs, working on tabs and lyrics. It started off as fun, just the five of us, Jamia and Missy, jamming out to whatever sounds good, and all that jazz, but then, BOOM, writers block hit us.
Shit.
We tried working around it the best we could, but nothing came. We all soon became frustrated and it didn't end well.
Gerard was sitting at his drawing desk when I arrived home from the grocery store. I had greeted him when I entered our big little loft but he didn't reply.
Not thinking anything of it, I went to the kitchen area and proceeded to put the food away.
"Hey Gerard," I called, "Where do you want the spices?"
No answer.
"Gerard?"
Nothing.
Setting the oregano I held in my hand down on the counter, I walked out of the kitchen and to Gerard.
"Gee?"
He stiffened, but didn't reply.
"Baby?"
"What," he answered finally. The tone he held was of annoyance and anger all meshed into one, "What do you want Mikey?" he was yelling, "What could possible be so important that you just had to interrupt me?"
Frightened, I took a step back.
"Well," he demanded.
"I was just wondering where you wanted the spices."
My voice was small, I was scared by my brother. He would never act like this. It frightened me even more when his eyes widened and filled with rage.
"You just wanted to know where the spices go," he demanded, "You interrupted me, at my desk, while I was doing something that I'll never figure out again, all because you don't know your way around the fucking kitchen?"
"Well, I'm sorry," I replied, my voice losing it's shyness, "Do you really expect me to know when you're busy or when you're not?"
"I'm at my fucking desk, Mikey, What more do you fucking want?"
"You're always at your desk."
"Because I'm working!"
"You're always working! You never talk to anyone any more. The only time I ever get to spend time with you is when you're eating, and even then it's not -"
"Oh, come off it, Mikey. I'm not that involved in my work."
"But you are! God dammit, Gerard.... I haven't touched you in what feels like forever. I haven't kissed you, shared a bed with you, I haven't even just held a conversation with my older brother in forever."
"Well, I'm sorry I care more about our music than everyone else. I'm more interested in getting this album done than having sex. You're such a fucking whore, Mikey."
That last comment stung. A lot.
Anger swelled up inside of me, and the next thing I knew, my hand made contact with the side of Gerard's face, and I was yelling, "Don't you ever call me a whore."
Holding the side of his face, he looked at me with shocked eyes. He lowered his hand and nodded. He didn't vocally apologies for what he said, he didn't do anything.
Giving a great sigh, I went to our bed room, grabbed a small back, and put a change of clothes in it and everything else I needed, my music player, cell phone, and anything else I deemed important.
All the time while I went around the room, I didn't notice Gerard standing in the door way watching me walk back and forth, packing my bag.
"What are you doing," he asked, finally.
"I'm just going to spend the night at someone's house. I don't want to interrupt your concentration."
As I zipped up my bag, I felt Gerard's hands on my hips, his lips on my neck. My first instinct was to just close my eyes and melt into him, but instead, I removed his hands and grabbed my bag.
"I don't get it," he said, "You yell at me for not loving you, yet when I try you pull away."
"I just don't want you to take advantage of the whore."
Not waiting for an answer, I left the apartment and headed over to Frank and Jamia's.
*_*Two weeks later*_*
"I can't fucking take you anymore," Gerard yelled, "Last night you cry out my name with great passion, and not you totally hate me."
"I don't hate you, I'm just fed up with all of this."
It's been two weeks since our first fight, and there's been nothing but arguing since. It was a very hard atmosphere to live in, and the tension we had between us was leaking out onto the other guys and it was literally ruining our record.
Finally, I had enough.
Buying a plane ticket, I told everyone that I needed a break, and after a heated argument with Gerard, I broke up with him, and left for the mid west of the United States.